


Coming up Questionable

by cigarettestainedeyes



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettestainedeyes/pseuds/cigarettestainedeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times they held hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming up Questionable

The first time they held hands they were at Ian’s house, sitting across from one another at the kitchen table and debating what movie to watch before the rest of Ian’s family came home. They should’ve been having sex but it was way too hot to even think about fucking. Yes, even some things could stop two boys from going at it like rabid bunnies—not many things, mind you, but a few things—and the summer heat baking the walls and pounding into their heads was one of them. Ian’s air conditioner was broken and Mandy was at Mickey’s house so that left them with no choice but to actually talk; something Mickey had been trying to avoid.

Ian’s hand was just lying there, innocently stretched out along the table and Mickey reached out and took it, threading their fingers very slowly and carefully like Ian might break if he went too fast. Ian paused mid-sentence and watched the situation unfold. Mickey wasn’t looking at him or at their hands, but his eyes were drawn to the side, focusing on the tile. It reminded Ian of the first time they had sex and they almost got caught by Mickey’s dad. Mickey stared at the wall until the half-naked man left, muttering something about putting some clothes on. Ian had been too scared out of his mind to focus on the words at the time. That familiar feeling of unsettledness pricked up along his spine and made him sit up straighter.

There was a long pause where both of the boys mentally assessed the current quandary. Mickey was debating on taking his hand back. Ian was thinking about fucking him regardless of the heat. These thoughts prevented the situation from becoming immediately awkward but after enough time had passed it was clear someone should say something to break the ice.

“You don’t have to do this.” Ian finally muttered.

“What?” Mickey still wasn’t looking at him.

“Court me.” Ian grinned. “I’m already fucking you willingly. I don’t need convincing.”

“Wasn’t doing it to convince you.”

“Oh yeah?” Ian raised an eyebrow and smiled wider.

“Yeah, I felt like holding your fucking hand, is that a problem?” Mickey snapped.

Ian shook his head a little and relaxed. “Nope.” He replied honestly and stared at their interlocked fingers, applying slight pressure to the grip and feeling Mickey squeeze back after a beat.

 

*

 

The second time it happened was when Kash pulled his gun out on Mickey. Ian didn’t see Mickey fall but he heard the screams and the gunshots and then saw the huddled figure and everything went quiet. He remembered weakly screaming at Kash but being too focused on Mickey to really give a shit what Kash was doing. He gripped Mickey’s hand tightly, feeling the icy chill of confusion webbed through his fingers like a disease. The digits flexed and veins protruded down, disappearing into his sleeve and their breathing synchronized into this equal panic.

“Don’t leave till the cops get here.” Mickey tried to sound demanding and harsh but it came out tired and forceful.

“I won’t.” Ian promised, meeting his eyes with determined ambition.

 

*

 

The third time it happened Mickey had just been released from jail. He and Ian had snuck off to a park to drink some cheap vodka as a celebration after everyone had gotten done welcoming him back home. They ended up sitting on the swings, motionless apart from passing the bottle back and forth, a few quiet words, and finally, Ian reaching over and taking Mickey’s hand when he felt brave enough—or boozed enough, take your pick.

“Missed you.” He mumbled hesitantly around the tip of the bottle before taking a swig. When he swallowed he repeated it more clearly, getting used to the words because he felt he’d be saying them often. “I missed you.”

Mickey took a long drink. “You too, kid.” He grunted after a few moments. “You too.”

Their hands hung between them, gripped together in a tight bond that made Ian want to cry a little. He didn’t know how long they’d be able to keep doing this and that thought made him squeeze Mickey’s hand harder while trying not to look worried. As if hearing his thoughts, Mickey pushed his feet against the gravel below them, leaning towards Ian, and when Ian glanced over Mickey kissed him suddenly, firm but short and tasting like alcohol and stale chips before moving away to his original position, their hands never once breaking throughout the whole exchange.

“Shit, you should go to jail more often.” Ian joked.

“Fuck off.” Mickey spat.

 

*

 

The fourth time was when Mickey was being hauled onto a bus, a rickety, yellow thing with peeling seats and a boisterous driver. He was being taken to his new job site two hours away, and would have to live on location for the first two weeks. When he found his seat he slid to the window and saw Ian with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring woefully through the window, into his eyes, and looking sullen and withdrawn. Mickey rolled his eyes and looked around. The other guys were as big as him, some bigger. Definitely mean looking. Probably all straight. Fuck it. He stood up and yanked the window down, sticking his arm out, followed by his head.

“Hey, fuck-face, come here and stop moping.” He shouted, pointing at Ian and then to the spot below the window.

Ian pattered over unenthusiastically and stared up at him, body almost lethargic at how depressed this was making him. Mickey looked away from Ian’s burning gaze then back quickly and reached out his hand before he could lose his nerve. Ian’s face transformed into complete disbelief but his hand shakily rose to grab Mickey’s, their gloved hands touching and then holding.

“It’s two weeks. I’ll call.” Mickey promised, squeezed Ian’s hand then slipped out of his grasp and disappeared back into the bus.

Ian’s heart melted a little, feeling like butter on warm toast. He smiled. It was the most Mickey had ever given him. Mickey ignored the guys catcalling at him from the back and tried not to smile back.


End file.
